Backstabber
by Infinity Complex
Summary: America buried his head in his hands, "damn, England. I'm so sorry, if you had to raise me knowing half the stuff that I know now…"


**A/N: All explanations and historical notes are located at the bottom. Also, I do not own Hetalia.**

"Damn, England. I'm so sorry, if you had to raise me knowing half the stuff that I know now…" A conversation that takes place between America and his new little brother.

"**Backstabber"**

**1860**

_It only remains for me to bid you a final adieu.  
~ Jefferson Davis_

"And it's been called guerrilla warfare ever since."

"Why are you teaching me all this?" The teenager filled the pause with his usual even, yet hospitable tone, casually lounging in the rocking chair on the porch.

"What do you mean, 'all this'?" The America's bright blue eyes blinked owlishly behind eyeglasses.

"Economics, literature, culture, military tactics, French, government, politics, wilderness survival, history. I mean, you were just telling me stories about the military tactics of the Revolutionary War," the boy said calmly, adjusting his hat to better block the sun out of his eyes.

The blonde haired man, who had been leaning against the railing facing the boy, turned around to look beyond the porch of the house. With one hand, he motioned for his brunet companion to join him, and so they stood side by side, looking out into the fields and the many slaves working in them. The older man then loped his arm around the younger's shoulder and flashed his usual blinding smile.

"Why shouldn't I teach you? You're Lee Frederickson, the agricultural south. These are your people, too," he motioned to the sprawling lands beyond the large southern plantation home. "You owe it to them to know their world, your culture, and our history."

The younger teen smiled sadly, looking down so his hat's shadow hid deep blue eyes. "My existence means that my people consider themselves separate from you. Don't you take the time to think about what that could mean? I could secede, and you're giving me all the tools to be successful as a country."

"When you secede, won't you need to know that stuff?"

"_If_ I secede, don't you want me to fail on my own and come crawling back to you?" Though his words stung, they held no malice, just frustration at his inability to comprehend what the other man was trying to say.

"Should I want that?" America asked honestly, smiling and scratching the back of his neck, as if ashamed he had to ask in the first place.

Lee hugged him, leaning up against the older man.

"I could stab you in the back," he dug his hand into the area between America's shoulder blades for emphasis, "and you're just giving me the knife. I don't understand why you're doing this for me. But thanks, I suppose. For the stories, and the lessons…they're interesting, they make me feel like I'm a part of you."

The older of the two laughed. "We're the same country."

The two stepped back, away from one another.

Both Lee's voice and facial expression darkened into something more downhearted. "Politically, I suppose, but culturally–"

Though poised to continue speaking, the boy was obviously sidetracked by something, his gaze drawn away from the country's face and locking onto a point in the distance. One of the dark-skinned slaves had stopped working for an abnormally long amount of time, and the brunet quickly hurried to correct that. The cotton did not pick itself.

"Hey, you, get back to work!" the teen yelled, rushing off into the fields.

America's smile became melancholy, as he watched the boy berate first the laboring slave, and then the driver responsible for making sure they were all busy. He merely hoped that the overseer would not become concerned; the involvement of that awfully cruel man would ensure heavy physical punishment for all of the surrounding slaves.

"Slave states, free states, this whole mess gives me a headache, literally" he chuckled darkly, "I get enough of it in congress. But here we are, the United States of America – the land of the free – and the personification of the slave south, getting along like the closest brothers.

"But it won't always be that way. I know why you exist, South…

"I know that one day you will try to secede. I know that by giving you this knowledge, I'm also giving you the tools to possibly succeed on your own. I know that I'm giving you the knife with which to stab me. And though I don't want you to leave, I know that when you're ready, you deserve a chance to at least _try_ to be your own country…"

America buried his head in his hands, his shoulders slouching as his posture took on that of a defeated man.

"_Damn,_ England. I'm so sorry, if you had to raise me knowing half the stuff that I know now."

* * *

**In my head-cannon, if a large enough group of people consider themselves separate from the empire or country they belong to, they have a "nation" personification. Thus, Lee Frederickson exists as the slave states' personification. But America's personification is still the entirety of America at the same time, because the political borders of America technically include both slave states and free states.**

**The "overseer" was generally a hired white man with the job of making sure the slaves were working efficiently. They were known for their harsh actions. **

**The "driver" was a slave trusted by the master, who maintained order and discipline among the slaves, but they still worked under the overseer.**

**So what did you guys think? Was Alfred in character? What do you think of Lee? **

**Review? Pretty please with a hamburger on top?  
**


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